


Fevered Dreams

by Witch_Nova221



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Rumbelle Christmas in July, Sickness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-07-22
Packaged: 2018-07-26 02:50:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7557184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Witch_Nova221/pseuds/Witch_Nova221
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Belle is struck down by a mysterious illness, Rumple must do everything he can to save her including entering her dreams. </p><p>Written for the wonderful Little-Inkstone as part of the Rumbelle Christmas in July 2016 challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Good Night's Sleep

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Little_Inkstone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Little_Inkstone/gifts).



> So my prompt for this fic was 'The Thing That's Killing Me' and this is what I came up with. I hope you all enjoy it.

“Make it something a little stronger than tea, dearie. I’ve had a trying day.”

Belle smiled at the sound of her master’s voice, unaware he had returned to the castle as she carried a tea tray into the library, intent on indulging in a few chapters of a good book before bedtime.

“You usually come and terrorise me when you come home,” she said, setting down the tray on the table and moving until she could see him where he sat in the large wingback chair. “How long have you been back?”

“An hour or so,” said Rumple, his fingers steepled in front of him as he stared into the fire. “I needed some quiet.”

Belle frowned as she took in his appearance, his face tight and drawn in the shadowy firelight. “Then I’ll leave you in peace,” she said with a small bob of a curtsey. “Would you like me to bring you supper?”

“No, thank you,” said Rumple. “But I would rather you stayed. The silence is growing somewhat stifling. Perhaps you would care to read something aloud?”

Belle nodded, used to her master’s odd moods after months in his service and more than happy to oblige him when he seemed to have the weight of the world upon him. She hated to see his pain, but she secretly revelled in the moments when she was privileged to see the man rather than the imp. The mask of the Dark One drawn back to reveal the soul beneath. A soul she was growing to love despite everything she had ever thought to the contrary.

She opened the small cabinet where he kept a stash of strong wines and spirits, selecting a particular blend she knew he favoured and pouring a healthy measure into a goblet. She carried it over to him, receiving a nod of thanks before she took a cushion from the nearby chaise. She set it on the floor beside his chair and then turned her attentions to the nearest shelves, selecting a book at random and opening it as she settled at his feet. 

She had read for several hours when she was interrupted by a light snore from the chair beside her and she set her book aside with a smile. It was rare for her master to sleep, lights and sounds now her lullaby as he worked around the clock. His time had seemed to be even more stretched recently though, flitting from place to place and deal to deal. His temper had been short and she worried for him. 

She got to her feet and retrieved a worn, woven blanket from the trunk beside the window, setting it across his legs as gently as she could so as not to rouse him. She extinguished all the candles but left the fire for warmth, hoping that he would sleep well until the morning and recover from whatever had him working so hard. 

With a smile, she headed to the door, turning back only briefly to regard his sleeping form.

“Goodnight Rumplestiltskin,” she said softly. “Sleep well.”

xxxx

In the dead of night, the familiar tremble of an explosion had woken Belle from her slumber, signalling that Rumple had woken from his rest and returned to working in his tower. She had cursed that he had not had more sleep but she knew there was little she could do, turning back to her own pillow in resignation and allowing the familiar clatter and bang to lull her back to sleep.

When she had woken again, dawn was breaking over the windowsill. She reached out and tapped the little clock Rumple had enchanted to rouse her at the time she specified. It had been a grudging gift three weeks into her servitude in the castle when he had grown tired of having to come and wake her to begin her day, a life of servants and nursemaids leaving her unable to wake on her own. 

Belle was grateful for the enchantments on the castle, the water already warm and waiting for her in the little bathroom set off to the side of her room and her fire and candles lit without the need for her to tend to them. With the enchantments’ help, she was dressed and in the kitchen long before her master beat his way down from his tower demanding his breakfast.

She was used to seeing him in a stained apron or with his sleeves slightly singed from his work but when he appeared in the doorway, he was covered head to foot in soot. Smudges marked his eyes where he had tried to wipe them clean with a blackened sleeve.

“What on earth happened to you?” she exclaimed, receiving a scowl in response as he waved his hand and restored his normally pristine appearance.

“Not your concern, dearie!” he snapped, “You better not have burned the bacon.”

Belle huffed as she placed his plate in front of him. “You’re in a charming mood this morning,” she said. “What are you working on that has you up all hours?”

“A potion to stop nosey maids asking too many questions,” he said around a mouthful of food. “Don’t you have something to clean?”

“Your mouth with a dishrag and soap,” countered Belle, “I’ll be in the hall when you decide to be pleasant.”

His hand caught hold of hers as she passed and she paused to look at him, but he did not raise his gaze from his meal.

“Forgive my shortness of temper,” he said. “In a few days my work will be completed and then all will be well. I promise.”

Belle smiled, moving on as his hand released hers. “Foolish man,” she said, knowing he heard her, “I don’t care about your temper, my concern is your health.”

When he didn’t respond, she went on her way, the floors of the great hall on her mind to tackle that day when Rumple would be in his tower, not trailing his boots across her freshly washed floors.

She was polishing the hardwood when she felt the wards that surrounded the castle tremble, announcing a visitor. Before long, she heard the familiar pounding on the door. It was always the same when someone came for a deal with her master with pounding and the posturing, as though they could intimidate the Dark One. She had seen it many-a time when she had dared to peek over the balustrade and watch her master at work with his uninvited guests. She was never allowed to meet with the people who came to the castle, though Rumple had never given her a reason, so she had to keep her spying a secret.

Beyond the door to the hallway, she heard the familiar thrum of magic. Rumple had arrived to deal with their visitors. Her curiosity piqued, she was tempted to put down her mop and hurry to her favourite focal spot to watch, but Rumple’s temper had been too short in recent weeks for her to risk discovery. With a sigh of frustration she returned to her work and strained her ears in the hopes of hearing the conversation.


	2. Unwelcome Visitors

Rumple growled as he felt the wards ripple, alerting him to the visitors who had braved the mountain to reach the castle. He cursed as the potion before him turned black and started to smoke, another attempt ruined and costing him yet more time. The potion he was brewing was the most complex he had ever seen in his long life but its rewards would be great, allowing whoever imbued it the ability to see through the veils of the world and into the realms beyond. With its power he would be able to pinpoint which world Baelfire had transported himself to and focus his attentions on breaking through. Whenever he finally did make the journey to his son’s side, it would be a one-way trip. It would be just his luck to learn that there were two or more lands without magic, and he would end up in the wrong one.

He had lost count of the number of times the potion had gone awry, the concoction either exploding, failing, even disappearing altogether when he made a misstep.. Long hours of stressful work were making him grouchy, and he hated the fact that Belle bore the brunt of his ire.   
The potion had stolen his precious time with his young maid and he missed her company, grabbing only snippets of time now and then when he could spare it. Her absence had made him realise how much he had come to care for the woman. He had admired her from the start, her bravery and tenacity impressing and inspiring him when she had sacrificed herself to him for the sake of her kingdom. In recent weeks, though, he had come to realise that respect, admiration, and care were inadequate words to describe how he felt about his Belle, but he dared not give the emotion a name when it was never meant to be.

He waved a hand and vanished the ruined potion as he heard the main door fly back on its hinges. It was a moment’s thought to transport himself from atop his tower and into the hallway. At least Belle had heeded his warning to stay away from any guests as he took in the sorry state of the people before him. 

“And what, pray tell, are you doing in my castle without an invitation?” he sneered, smirking as they turned in alarm to face him.

They were an unkempt trio, peasants and poor ones at that from the state of their garments, poorer even than Rumple himself had once been. He felt a twist of pity beneath his ribs, but the darkness that shrouded his heart chased it off in a moment.

“Dark One,” said the eldest of the band, falling to his knees in supplication with some difficulty, “We beg for your aid.”

Desperation filled the air with its sweet aroma and Rumple felt his power respond in kind, willing to grant any request so long as the price could be met.

“And what aid is it that you require?” asked Rumple, his attention caught by one of the younger men as he coughed, the hacking sound setting his nerves on edge.

“Our village has been beset by a plague,” said the man on his knees. “Half our population has been killed already. Men, women and children. It spares none. The healers have deserted us. None will come and trade for food or for medicine and we are shunned from every neighbouring town. If you do not help us, then there will be no one left by the turn of the season.”

Rumple rubbed his hand over his chin in thought, scowling as the younger man coughed once more, his hand falling onto the large round table in an effort to hold himself up. With a wave, he silenced the cough but the man still went through the motions, his face puce with the pain and effort of the cough. 

“And if I were to help you?” said the imp, “What do you offer me in return?”

“We are a poor village,” said the man on his knees. “We have little to offer, but we have heard many stories of you, Dark One, and so we sought to bring you the best that we had.”

He got to his feet, dragging the small boy that until then had stood silent and hooded at his back. He pulled back hood that obscured his face, and it was all Rumple could do to remain impassive as a young girl was revealed to him. She was small, slight, and no more than fourteen. Her fear permeated the air but she kept her face as stoic as she could despite the tears that burned in her eyes.

“And what need have I for this child?” sneered Rumple, already certain of the answer but needing to hear it before he let loose the wrath within him.

“She is for your pleasure Dark One,” said the elder of the band. “She is unknown of any man. Pure and ripe. She will serve you as she has been told to. She will sacrifice herself to you as the Princess of Avonlea did.”

Rumple’s heart stilled in his chest. The offer of a human sacrifice, especially a virgin female, was one he received more often than he cared to consider. It was always refused, but to hear Belle’s former title as a reason for the offering froze the very blood in his veins. He had known what would be thought of his deal for Belle when he made it, none willing to accept that she would work purely in the capacity of a maid, but to hear rumours bandied about so freely disturbed him more than he cared to admit. 

His beautiful, pure, innocent Belle was branded a whore. No doubt she was considered a spent whore at that, used and discarded by the feared beast of the Dark Castle. How many stories had been told of her defilement? How noble was the sacrifice of her honour and virginity made out to be that a village would give up one of its own children to the same fate to save their own skins?

Disgust, shame, and sorrow warred within his mind but his face remained cold and closed to the people before him.

“Get out of my castle,” he hissed, meeting their frightened eyes when they failed to move, “Did you not hear me? Take your offering and get out of my castle. You will have nothing from me.”

“But Dark One, please, I beg you,” stuttered the elder of the band. “We are in desperation. We have other girls, prettier girls. You may have one of your choosing. Name your price from our daughters for they are yours.”

“Name my price of your daughters?” growled Rumple, a wave of his hand sending the silently coughing man flying out of the door without a thought. “What about my price of your wives, your mothers, or perhaps I may take your sons? Or should I just take the hearts from every miserable chest in the place and end your suffering that way. You would be kinder to take every lass you have wed or sired and put them to the sword than offer them as you would a bag of grain. Seek your aid elsewhere, peasant, for you will none from me. Now get out!”

The last words were roared so loudly that the very stones beneath their feet shook. With a dismissive wave, the figure of the village elder and the young girl he had brought in sacrifice disappeared from the room, Rumple’s magic only ensuring a safe and soft landing for the girl. The doors slammed themselves shut and he warded them heavily, any further unwanted guests left with the unenviable task of waiting outside in the snow until the master of the castle chose to admit them.

He heard the door to the main hall open and saw Belle’s bright face appear in the crack, her eyes meeting his with a mix of curiosity and relief. He extended a hand to her, wordlessly inviting her to step out to him. She did not hesitate. He closed his long fingers around her pale, small hand, masking his sorrow at the villager’s words as best he could but he knew she saw through him, as she was wont to do.

“I heard you shout,” she said, closing her hand around their joined ones. “What happened?”

Rumple forced a smile. “Merely a foolish man who looked to anger the Dark One without a thought to the consequences,” he said, “Do not worry. They will not bother us again. My apologies if my temper startled you.”

“You have shouted louder when I have burned your supper,” said Belle with an indulgent smile. “And I have learned that your bark is far worse than your bite.”

“For you maybe, my dear,” said Rumple, bringing two long fingers beneath her chin. “Come, I believe it is time for lunch. That is, if you don’t mind the company of an old monster who chases people off the mountain.”

“So long as you never chase me off the mountain,” said Belle, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm as he led her back into the hall. “Now how long do I have you for? Should I prepare something swiftly or do I have time to make us something hot?”

Rumple waved a hand as the door closed on the hallway behind them, the table instantly laden with enough food to feed them at least three times over. Belle smiled up at him, the hand on his arm squeezing in silent thanks as they headed to the bounty. He released her long enough to pull out a chair and then guided her into a seat before he sat at the head of the table and poured tea from the perfectly steeped pot.

Lunch was a leisurely and pleasant affair but after several hours, Belle saw his attention start to wander. His mind once more on his work despite their conversation. She took pity on him and got to her feet, saving him from breaking their repast.

“Well I must get on,” she said. “These grand antiquities and knick-knacks of yours won’t dust themselves. You know, the master of the castle is a stickler for cleanliness, unless it is in his own tower.”

Rumple offered her a small smirk as he raised a black-tipped finger in mock admonishment. “Touch one single artefact in my tower, dearie, and you’ll find yourself back in the first room I ever gave you in this castle,” he said, the smile widening as she laughed at him. “I have work to attend to but I shall see you at supper. Try to stay out of mischief for a few hours.”

“Yes, sir,” said Belle with a small bob of a curtsey as he headed off towards the door that led to his tower and the work it contained.

She saw to the artefacts that littered the room, thankful at least that whatever enchantment he had used to conjure their meal had also cleared it from the table. Once her dusting was complete, she considered moving to the library but she recalled the state of the floor in the hallway, made muddy by the visitors’ winter boots, dirt, and snow. 

She retrieved her mop and bucket from the corner of the room and headed out to the large hallway. She set to work, the floor coming to a shine beneath her efforts. With a groan, she realised she would need to move the great circular table to allow her to clean the entire floor. She lifted the heavy vase from the table and set it on the stairs before she turned her attention to the monolith she had to move. She rolled up her sleeves and set her hands as squarely as she could upon it, shifting it with all her might and cringing as she heard it squeak and grind against the stone. 

The movement kicked up the dust that had accumulated around the feet and she sneezed, bringing her hand to her nose to tamper down the remaining tickle she felt there. When the small fit abated and the dust cleared itself somewhat, she set once more to her work. In no time the floor was spotless with the table and its adornments moved back into place.

By the time she had finished, the sun was firmly on the horizon. Soon her master would begin to demand his supper. She headed to the kitchens, gathering what she would need for their meal and preparing it with an ease borne of months at the task. 

The kitchen was warm and oppressive, set low in the basement of the castle, and she felt the pressure against her temples, warning her of a headache yet to bloom. Her limbs ached from her work and she hoped Rumple would not be too put out if she excused herself to her chamber as soon as dinner was complete.

As though her thoughts had conjured him, Rumple appeared in the kitchen moments later, somewhat dishevelled from his work but not nearly as haggard as he had been that morning. He was happier than he had been and she ascertained that whatever he had been working on had begun to yield positive results. He insisted upon them eating in the comfort of the kitchen rather than traipsing to the great hall and Belle could only wish her headache would abate as she was privileged to have both his attention and conversation for so long.

Finally, her headache won out over her desire to remain with him and she excused herself, blaming the length of her day and the number of chores she had performed when he questioned her. She retired to her bed, hoping that sleep would cure the pressure at her temples but, though she slept well, she woke with her head as fuzzy as it had been when she had gone to sleep. 

She forced herself to rise from her bed, cursing the ache in her limbs. Briefly, she wondered if she had taken ill, but she pushed the thought aside. She had not had any contact with another living soul bar Rumple in many weeks and the imp himself never got sick. A morning bath did nothing to ease her, and she hoped that her master would have less arduous tasks for her to perform. She cursed as she remembered moving the heavy oak table in the hallway, her body unused to such physical exertions, and no doubt the cause of her malady.

She made her way to the kitchens and set about preparing their breakfast, a smile coming to her face despite her discomfort as Rumple arrived. He ate swiftly before returning to his tower and she was left to her own devices. She tidied the kitchen as best she could and intended to tidy other rooms in the castle, but by the time she reached the great hall she felt heavy and languid and pressure behind her eyes had built to a blinding pain.

Belle staggered to the chaise by the fire, intending to rest for just a minute. Sitting soon turning to lying and her heavy eyes fell closed against her wishes. With a whimper that sounded more like a shout in the silent hall, she succumbed to her dreams and the terrors that awaited.


	3. Fever

Rumple rubbed his fist against his stomach as it growled. Since taking on the Dark Curse he had not been subject to mortal frailties like hunger but that didn’t mean his body did not protest when denied. He had gone without Belle’s delicious tea and cakes for too long. He glanced at the clock, realising it was long past the time his precocious little maid forced lunch upon him and he frowned. 

He looked around the tower, searching for a tray that she would set down when he was too engrossed in his work to notice her presence, but there was nothing on any of the usual surfaces. He wove a charm over the potion bubbling on his workbench, confident it would stay suspended in time until he returned to continue work on it.

Wiping his hands on a rag, he headed to the door, a frown marring his brow as he realised that castle seemed eerily silent. He wondered what was missing until he realised the it was the same silence that enveloped the castle of a nighttime when Belle was asleep. It reminded him of the silencing of birdsong before a storm and the air seemed the thrum with menace and trepidation. 

“Belle?” he called down the stairs. “Belle? Dearie?”

Panic took him. He imagined she had decided to leave him and had slipped away without a word when he was distracted. Though he had never told her of the fact, he had long since taken down the wards that had kept her from leaving the castle and he couldn’t help but think that she had discovered it on her own. He hurried his step as he took the stairs two at a time, calling her name as he went.

He paused as a low sound met his ears, tugging at a memory from so long ago and his heart lurched as he realised what he was hearing. The worst sound to any parent was the sound of a child in distress and the noise he heard from below was the same he had heard from Baelfire whenever the boy had been afflicted by a nightmare. This sound was older and more feminine, but the distress was the same. He gave up moving by mortal means as he spirited himself through the ether to Belle’s side. 

He covered his racing heart with a hand, finding her merely asleep on the chaise beside the fire. He reached out a hand to shake her awake but stopped short of touching her, unwilling to do so without her consent. 

“Belle?” he called over her, his voice sharp enough to rouse her. “I didn’t realise that I had obtained your services with the caveat that you would be allowed to sleep half the work day away. Have you nothing better to do?”

Belle groaned, blinking awake before she blushed crimson at being caught asleep. “Rumple?” she said swaying slightly as she sat up. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I had a headache and meant to rest my eyes for just a moment. I’ll get on now.”

She rose, pausing for a moment before she swayed violently and Rumple thanked his reflexes as he caught her. He steadied her as best he could, frowning as he felt the unnatural warmth of her skin where his hands gripped her bare arms.

“Are you unwell, my dear?” he said gently, his hand coming to her forehead. “You are raging with fever Belle.”

“It’s just a cold,” said Belle. “I will be fine.”

She made to step away from him again but her legs refused to cooperate and she stumbled once more, Rumple lifting her from her feet and into the cradle of his arms.

“You should not have a cold,” he said. “You have been nowhere near anyone who is sick. Have you touched anything you shouldn’t? Did any of the artefacts react when you cleaned them?”

“I…can’t quite recall,” said Belle, her words slurred as she rested her forehead against his with a sigh. “I feel so strange.”

Concern outweighed any elation at having her so close as her fevered skin burned into his. “We’ll see you right, my dear,” he promised. “Right now, it’s to bed with you.”

“Have to clean…” said Belle. “Only got to the hallway yesterday…need to…”

“Hallway?” said Rumple as he carried her towards the stairs. “When did you clean the hallway?”

“After you’d finished shouting at those people,” she said, pressing her face into his neck. “You always keep me safe from people who come to visit, but I worry for you.”

Rumple cursed, changing his direction from the bedchambers above stairs to his tower, concern and shame warring for dominance in his gut.

“Belle I am so sorry,” he said. “I was too distracted by my work to pay attention to what you were doing.”

“I don’t understand,” said Belle as they reached the door to the tower, a burst of magic opening it before Rumple set her down on a bed she had never known to be in the room before.

Rumple sighed, sitting on the mattress beside her as he pushed the damp hair back from her burning brow. “They were sick, the people who came yesterday,” he said. “I do not know the nature of the illness, but it seems you are now afflicted. I don’t get sick and I didn’t consider the fact that the illness would spread to the castle…to you. Forgive me, dear one.”

Belle smiled weakly, her eyes heavy. “It wasn’t your fault,” she said. “You can make me well. I can even make the price if you name it, I’m sure.”

“Oh no, my sweet girl,” said Rumple as he set a blanket over her. “If there is a price to be borne for your health, then I will be the one to bear it. I blame myself for your suffering. Lie quiet now and let me see to a remedy for that fever.”

A bowl appeared on the table beside the bed and he reached into it, pulling out a cool, wet cloth and laying it against her brow. Belle smiled weakly up at him, her eyelids fluttering in an effort to remain awake, but he found he could not return the gesture.

It was a matter of minutes for him to prepare a basic draft of willow bark and feverfew. A remedy he had prepared for Baelfire, long before he had possession of any magic greater than knowledge. He roused Belle enough to place the cup to her lips and she sipped at it more on instinct than anything else. He laid her back down and replaced the cloth on her brow, concerned with how swiftly the illness was taking hold of her. 

“Belle,” he said, his hand firm on her shoulder to keep her awake. “You must tell me about any symptoms I cannot see.”

“Cold, so cold,” she said, fumbling for his hand. “My head…it hurts and I feel…dread. Rumple, I’m frightened.”

“Hush, hush now,” said Rumple, pressing a kiss to the back of her knuckles. “It’s but a trifling cold and we’ll have you right by sunset.”

A smile formed on her lips, but it was chased away by a vicious cough that wracked her small frame. If the cough hadn’t been enough to heighten his concern, then the blood that spattered his hand where it rested on her shoulder did. Several droplets stained the pure white of her lace sleeve. He hushed her once more, taking a handkerchief from his pocket and wiping the crimson stain from her lips. 

Without moving from her side, he conjured several books from the shelves, a half dozen more rushing through the door as they came to the call of his magic from the library. He paid no mind to the expenditure of his own power as he floated the books before him, the pages turning of their own accord as he searched through every illness that could cause her symptoms.

Belle drifted in and out of sleep as he reviewed page after page of text, several languages warring for dominance in his mind at once as he translated and compared sickness after sickness. His concern grew as in one waking moment she was overcome by an almost hysterical giggle as she confessed to never truly seeing him as a wizard until he had spell books floating before him. Once he quieted her and returned to his work, stubbornly clinging to her limp hand.

When his studies drew a blank and her symptoms still raged despite his treatments, he got reluctantly to his feet and cast a protective charm over the sleeping woman before he disappeared from the room with a crackle of magic. 

It was not long until he returned, a half dressed and bewildered Jefferson held by the scruff of his neck at his side.

“…And how am I meant to avoid getting sick?” said Jefferson as though he hadn’t just been magically transported from one place to another, “If I die…”

“You’re not going to die, Hatter,” said Rumple. “I’ve charmed you so you can’t breathe in any pathogens…”

“I can’t breathe!” cried the hatter before Rumple clocked him soundly round his head.

“Of course you can breathe, you fool,” said the imp. “You just can’t breathe in whatever is making Belle ill. It’s a charm I should have thought to use on the dear girl herself but I’ve been distracted of late.”

Jefferson smirked as he looked down at the sleeping woman beside them. “I can see why,” he said. “No wonder you have never let me meet her; she is quite the beauty.”

The slap Rumple administered was far sharper than the previous and Jefferson rubbed the back of his head to ease the sting.

“Keep your eyes and your hands to yourself,” sneered Rumple, “It is not Belle’s beauty that has had me distracted.”

Jefferson looked unconvinced but held his hands up in surrender all the same. “Do you know what’s wrong with her?” he asked, seeing the imp’s face flinch as he looked down at Belle.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I have searched every tome but nothing matches her symptoms so far, not with how swiftly they have progressed. There is only one option left available.”

“And that is?” prompted the hatter as Rumple sat down beside Belle, easing her as she murmured in her sleep.

“I must away to the village where this came from,” he said. “I need to study this illness and then maybe I can cure it but I cannot…Jefferson, you are the only one I trust to watch over her. Please say you will stay with her?”

Jefferson frowned as he saw the sorcerer gently stroke his maid’s hand, wondering at the slight tremor he had heard in his voice since he had first appeared in his home. “I will do all I can to help,” he said, all banter forgotten. “What do you need me to do?”

“Sit with her,” said Rumple. “Keep her fever down and comfort her if you can. If she worsens or anything changes then you must send for me. Call my name thrice and that shall summon me home.”

Jefferson nodded. “Go then, man. Don’t waste time,” he said. “I will see that no harm comes to her.”

Rumple hesitated a moment before he bent down, pressing a kiss to Belle’s yet fevered brow. “I will make you well,” he promised. “Whatever it takes.”

Whilst his departure usually manifested in smoke and sparks, he left Belle’s side as though he was fading from the world itself, one moment there and the next gone without anything to show for it. 

Jefferson took the seat his friend had vacated, looking at the beautiful woman before him with new eyes as he realised he was looking down at the person his friend loved. She fretted slightly in her sleep and he swept the cloth from her brow, wetting it once more before he replaced it in the hope it would cool her fever. 

At a loss for anything else to do, he turned to thoughts of how he comforted his own child in times of need. A small lullaby filling the room as he waited for Rumplestiltskin’s return.


	4. The Plague Doctor

The town was silent.

It wasn’t the silence of night, nor the gentle quiet of a lazy summer afternoon. This was a silence that Rumple knew all too well, had lived through several times himself when he had been a mere spinner. It was the silence that screamed death and decay, isolation and utter despair. The dying were silent in their wait for the end, the living were silent in their prayers for salvation. Even the birds knew not to stir in a place laid desolate by plague. 

Pyres smoked, the outline of corpses still visible amongst the ashes as they sought to offer the dead some funeral rites. Doors were daubed with paint to signify the infected and the safe but those unpainted were uninhabited, dead already or fled.

Rumple pulled his hood up over his face, his solitary figure walking as though embodying Death himself as he passed without fear through the decimated town. He strained his ears for voices, knowing where there were people there would be at least someone who could answer his questions. He was sure he could more easily source a dead body to study but a corpse was no use to him. He needed to know symptoms, progression times, and medications that had tried and failed to heal. 

Finally, he heard faint murmurs from a house not far ahead, the sound too low for mortal ears. He headed to the house, poorer even than the one he had known, and opened the door without announcing his presence. The scent of death assaulted him as he stepped inside, fresh enough that he was certain he would have seen the deceased yet living had he arrived an hour beforehand. 

Heads raised and turned to him and he immediately recognised the man who had come to the castle and offered one of the village’s daughters as payment for a cure.

“Dark One?” he said, half in question and half in fear. “You…”

“Modify your hopes, peasant,” said Rumple quickly. “I bring neither potion nor spell to save your kinsmen.”

“Then why?” spoke the elder, the woman beside him clutching his sleeve in fear of the sorcerer before her.

“Because you dragged the sickness that plagues you into my home and struck down my friend,” said Rumple, the truth spilling forth with no attempt to hide it. “Not a day since I sent you from my castle I find my maid sick with fever. I cannot name the illness that has her in thrall but I must find it. You must tell me all that you know of this plague.”

“So our plea meant nothing when it was our lives we asked you to save but when someone of importance to you is threatened then you come to us for aid?” spat the elder, the shift in power his knowledge gave him making him bold. “Well I shall treat you no differently than you treated me, sorcerer, and tell you no. Be on your way. I am a dead man walking, so if you strike me down you merely ease my passing.”

“Embrick,” warned the woman beside him. “Do not antagonise him. He is the Dark One.”

“You would be wise to listen to your lady wife,” hissed Rumple, the air around him crackling with his anger. “If you assist me in my quest then any cure I find for my friend will be shared with you. Your people will be saved.”

“And how do I know you will keep your word?” said Embrick, waving away his wife as she tried once more to hush him.

“Because I always do,” said Rumple. “You knew enough of me before you came and offered your child’s virtue as payment. You know that I keep my word.”

“Uncle?” came the voice from a curtained off area across the room, “Father grows worse, he…”

The young girl who was to be his prize for saving them froze as she saw him stood in the doorway to her home. At first Rumple thought she had taken shock at the sight of him, but he recognised the woozy sway that had overtaken Belle when he had first found her asleep. 

He puzzled for a moment as to why she was still on her feet whilst Belle had succumbed so quickly, but then he recalled his own life as a peasant. Trials either killed or cured. Belle had been nursed and cared for all her life, kept from the worst sickness, fed the best foods, given the best cures. Though she had always been kept safe, she had failed to grown strong. Peasants were hardier, their mettle already proven if they survived childhood and then more so every winter when sickness and starvation took those who were weak and galvanised those who were strong.

Still, it seemed the woman before him was only on her feet by will alone. Rumple wondered how long she had left in the living realms. She let herself fall into the chair as she regarded him, the same expression of sad resignation on her face as she had worn at the castle.

“Am I to come with you Dark One?” she asked quietly. “Will you save my village if I do so?”

Rumple shook his head. “Whether I could save your village or not, you would not be my price child,” he said. “Your life is yours, be it long or short. I do not have time to waste, will you help me or no?”

He addressed the final question to the elder once more, receiving his answer from the look on his face even before he spoke.

“I would rather see them all die than aid you,” said the elder. “May your friend suffer as our people have.”

The fireball was at his fingertips before Rumple even thought to conjure it but a whimper from Embrick’s wife and the young girl gave him pause and he extinguished it.

“If I cared, I would raze this house to the ground with you in it,” he said. “But why spare your suffering when you refuse to aid me and receive my help in return. Your village’s fate is in your hands now.”

He gave no farewell as he swept from the cottage, heading back into the desolate streets in the hope of finding another house in which there were people he could question. He had not gone many steps when he heard a choked, wheezing laugh in a gap between two of the ramshackle buildings. 

He peered into the gloom, seeing the long black robes pooled around the figure seated on the floor. A visceral, primal sense of unease shivered through his body as he made out more of the man, his face covered by the long snouted plague mask that had haunted his nightmares as a child and a youth. 

Drawing his power around himself like a mantle, he stepped closer to the gap and the masked plague-doctor, wondering at the point of him wearing such a thing when he hacked a cough that spoke of the contagion already within him.

“What makes you laugh?” he questioned. “Or do you wish to anger the Dark One?”

“Anger Rumplestiltskin?” said the doctor, “Nay, master sorcerer, I would not be so bold. Though some seem keen to be. I heard your words; you seek answers and I can provide them.”

“At what price?” said Rumple. “Everyone has a price.”

The old doctor cackled. “You know I am dying,” he said. “I can gain nothing from you and live to enjoy it. I was the first doctor here you know, treated them best I could but they shunned me when my treatments failed and now I am stuck with death looming above and closed roads on all sides. If I can, though, I want to help still. Save who I can.”

“Then tell me all you know,” said Rumple. “And quickly. I feel the passing of time like a death knell for every moment that is wasted.”

The doctor nodded, mask bobbing and squeaking as he took a deep breath through the abused filters. “The illness starts with fever, fatigue, general symptoms of a base malady. Then there is the cough, bringing up blood as it strips the throat.”

“Aye,” breathed Rumple. “I have seen these symptoms in the woman in my charge. They took her within a day of her being exposed.”

“Then it is progressing quickly,” said the doctor. “The next stages are the warning signs. Once they begin I have not known the patient last more than ten days. The infected will sleep most of the time, lucidity and waking a rarity. When their dreams become hallucinations, then they are reaching the end. They will be tortured time and again by the dreams all the way to their death.”

Rumple nodded. “And what remedies did you try?” he asked, “What work have you already done? I…”

“Rumplestiltskin…Rumplestiltskin…Rumplestiltskin.”

Rumple heard Jefferson’s call as though the Hatter had spoken his name thrice straight into his ear. Pain lanced through him as his magic and the spell he had put upon his own name began to act, physical pain compelling him to answer.

“Speak quickly man,” said the imp through clenched teeth. “I do not have time for pretty words.”

“I have tried every cure I have ever learned for every plague that has been known,” said the doctor. “You will find nothing in any book that can help. Your only hope is the one cure I could not travel to find.”

“And that is?” pressured Rumple. “Hurry, I don’t have time.”

“There is one potion I could not try,” said the doctor. “Its properties transcend realms. It is made by combining earth from the ten magical realms Mingling it with the freely given blood of a sufferer will give you a chance at a cure.”

“But it’s impossible, it’s…” Rumple growled as pain lanced through him, the summons too much to bear.

“It is what it is,” said the doctor,. “You can waste time arguing with me or you can attempt to save her.”

The magic overcame Rumple and he glanced once more at the doctor as the cloud of magic encased him. The last thing he heard was the awful racking cough that meant the end was not far.


	5. Dreams

The dust was thick again, clinging to every surface in the castle as though no one had lived there for a hundred years or more. No matter how much she cleaned, the dust remained. 

The dust and the silence. 

There wasn’t always silence. Sometimes there was singing. It was toneless but it was soothing, and she wished she could find its source. No matter where she turned or where she searched though, it was always out of reach, always the room just beyond the one she stood in. 

She had wandered through the entire castle. She was meant to be looking for something…someone, but she could not remember who it was. She tried to call names to mind, names that had been important to her. She remembered Mama and Papa, several nurses and governesses that had been kind, but there was another name, an odd name but she could not recall even the first syllable.

She wanted to worry, but lethargy kept the worst of her fear at bay. Through the a great tiredness in her limbs she kept moving, chasing the voice that sang and the name that eluded her. 

She turned a corner, a hall appearing before her and something out of place. A great spinning wheel, free of dust and glinting in the only light in the room. There was a man at the wheel, his back to her as he spun a thread of pure gold. She called to him but her words fell silent. She crossed the room, her hand outstretched but just as her fingers were due to meet his silk-clad shoulder her world tipped and she fell. 

The sound of her own name echoed around her as she forgot what it felt like to stand upon the earth.

xxxx

Rumple scrambled to his feet as the magic propelled him once more into the top-most tower of his castle. The muscles in his legs that had been drawn taut in resistance of the spell suddenly grew lax and he stumbled once more, catching hold of the front of Jefferson’s coat to keep himself upright.

“You called me,” he said desperately. “You sent for me. What is it? What’s wrong?”

“She…Belle, she called for you and see seemed distressed not to have you here,” said Jefferson. “Her fever won’t go down and I haven’t been able to wake her.”

Rumple hurried to the bed where Belle tossed and turned, the sheets knotted about her. He took hold of her hand in a firm grip, pressing it over his heart before he rested his other on her brow.

“Belle,” he said, “Belle, dearie, I’m here.”

“Rum…Rumple…” she whimpered. “So cold…the castle is dusty…no one is there…Can’t find you….”

“She’s been like this for a while now,” said Jefferson, “One of the reasons I sent for you. She seems delirious. The dreams she’s experiencing are violent, but she won’t be woken.”

“Delirium,” said Rumple, his voice catching on the word as he stroked Belle’s sweat soaked hair. “Ten days.”

He cleared his workbench of all other items save for a clean cauldron with a wave of his hand. The only other thing to appear was a tall, thick candle, alight and marked with ten black notches down its length. 

“Jefferson, I must beg your aid a little longer. I am in need of your particular skills,” said Rumple, his magic summoning several empty vials from the shelves before he placed them into a satchel. “I need you to travel to the places I will list for you and you must gather the earth that is there. You will need to be swift…Belle…she has ten days at most and I…”

Jefferson set a strong hand upon his shoulder. “Any aid I can give is freely yours,” he said. “I can see how much you care for the girl. If I had known…”

“Place no romantic notions on this, Hatter,” snarled Rumple. “She is in my charge and she is ill because of my error. I am helping her because I am duty bound to do so, I do not…”

“Love her?” finished Jefferson. “If that statement is true then I am dormouse. There is no shame in love my friend and I am certain the girl’s feelings…”

“Do not presume to know her heart when you have never even spoken to her,” warned Rumple.

“She cried for you.”

“I am the only soul she knows in this mausoleum,” said Rumple. “It is natural she should call the one name she knows will answer. Now, are you prepared to offer me your services or are you purely here to prattle?”

“As I’ve said before,” said Jefferson, hearing the anger in his friend’s tone. “I am at your service. Where do you need me to collect this earth from?”

“The ten magical realms,” said Rumple.

“Ten? But only nine exist,” said Jefferson. “Unless there is one I cannot access.”

“There are only nine now but there were once ten,” said Rumple. “I am assuming you can reach the other nine?”

“With some more ease than others but it can be done,” said Jefferson, “But what of the tenth?”

Rumple waved a hand, an apparently empty vial appearing in his grasp. He shook it and the faintest sound of sand against glass could be heard.

“There was once a realm where every dream, every fantasy experienced by every soul in every realm, lived,” said the sorcerer. “It was a place of endless possibility. It was a place where the worlds met. It was filled with the greatest magic but it could not survive. People quieted their dreams, learned to be rational, lost faith, lost heart, and slowly the world faded to nothing. This is all that remains, in this world at least, of that place. Three grains of sand. There was more but I have made use of it. Hopefully there is enough to both save Belle and find my boy.”

“You’ve found a way to him?” said Jefferson with a smile. “Truly?”

“Maybe,” said Rumple. “But right now I must…Belle is in my care and I must make her well, then I will turn my thoughts once more to Baelfire.”

Jefferson bowed low. “Then I shall away,” he said. “I should manage to procure the earth of two realms a day and will have all for you by the end of the week. If you need me in the meanwhile, you know how to contact me.”

Rumple nodded. “You have my thanks and I will ensure you are well compensated,” he said. “Time is of the essence Hatter.”

“Then I will be swift,” he said. “If you could transport me home, I will get straight to my task.”

Rumple pressed the satchel of vials into his hand before he sent him on his way. He turned his attention back to the girl on the bed, for once peaceful in her dreams, but he took her hand all the same. 

“I will make you well,” he promised, brushing his lips over her knuckles. “And then you will go home, to people more qualified to protect you than I.”

Belle offered no protest as she lay silent against the sheets. Rumple replaced her hand gently before he turned back to his workbench, determined to make her as comfortable as possible whilst he waited for Jefferson to return with the ingredients he needed to cure her.

xxxx

She was in the same room again. The dusty room that no cleaning could improve. It seemed whenever the world shattered she would come back to this place and begin her search again. The singing had ceased to accompany her but sometimes she heard a voice, low and gentle that spoke rhythmically to her, a siren song to her addled mind. She followed the now familiar path, making the same mistakes despite knowing she had travelled it before. 

As always, she found herself in the great hall with the strange man at his spinning wheel. She smiled at the sight of him. Her strange, silent friend who turned and turned and turned the great wheel before him. She never saw his face, though something told her that it was a much beloved image, its looks capable of such gentleness and warmth while at the same time able to be so menacing and cold. 

Once more, she felt a name press in on her consciousness but she could not make it form on her tongue. She held out her hand as she always did, heading towards him, knowing the moment she touched him the world would shatter and she would begin again. 

She jumped as a fire leapt up in the usually cold hearth, the flames not part of the pattern she had grown used to. The change had not affected her companion. Still he sat, spinning away at the great wheel, gold thread spooling at his feet. She reached out a hand again, hoping that this time it would be different. This time the dream would move on.

She touched him. The world stayed as it was as her hand closed around his warm, silk-clad shoulder. She felt the thrum of life beneath her hand when it had always been so lifeless in the dusty castle and she smiled.

“Hello,” she said softly, her voice alarming even to her after so long of not speaking.

The man did not answer, the wheel never ceasing its motion beneath his hand. She moved around, trying to see his face but his hair hung in such a way that he was obscured. She sat down on the small bench beside him, her hand rising to brush the hair from his eyes, but as soon as she touched the silk soft strands the world tipped and once more she fell. Odd amber eyes looked down at her as she went.


	6. The Potion

Rumple lifted Belle’s head from the pillow as he eased a restorative potion passed her lips, hoping that it would replenish some of her strength after days of not eating. It had been five days since Jefferson had left, and three since Rumple had even heard one clear word murmured by his maid. She still suffered the dreams that haunted her sleep. He did his best to comfort her, sitting beside her, reading her stories, holding her soft hand in his whenever she reached for an anchor in the storm. His heart broke to see her so ill and fading daily, the rose chased from her cheeks by a pallor he would have attributed to death had she not breathed. 

He scoured book after book in the hope of finding a cure, the ever-burning candle ticking down the days too swiftly as he did without sleep or food in the effort to save her. He spoke to her as often as he could, realising in the silence that answered him how often he sought her counsel on so many issues, thoughts, and schemes. He longed to share more. To tell her all about Baelfire and his plans to recover him. Confess his wrongs and seek forgiveness in the kindness of her gentle heart. She would run if he told her all of his past but he wanted her to know, even if she went back into the world thinking ill of him.

He hushed her as she fretted once more in her sleep, her eyes fluttering behind their closed lids indicating that she was in the grip of another hallucination. She whimpered, her hands reaching out as though searching for something and he took them in a firm grip, hoping to give her a tangible anchor. Her returning grip was almost crushing, but the pain was nothing if it could help her. She cried out pitifully, writhing on the bed until she shuddered, her voice escaping her as she uttered words he had not heard from her dreams before.

“Please! Don’t go!” she cried, the sob wrenched from her throat as tears spilled from beneath her closed lids. 

“I’m never leaving,” he promised, leaning down so his lips were by her ear. “Dearest Belle, dearest love I won’t leave. I swear it.”

Before he could think better of the action, he pressed a kiss to her temple, caring nothing for the fever that burned there as his lips thrilled at the contact. He felt tears pool in his eyes as she sighed happily, the sound so foreign in the sick room his tower had become that he would have thought himself delirious were it not so close to his ear. 

He tore himself away from her as he felt a familiar presence breach the wards around the castle, using his magic to summon Jefferson directly to the tower the moment he was in the grounds.

“You know I really hate when you do that,” said Jefferson, barely breaking his stride as he headed towards the workbench and deposited the now somewhat battered satchel on the cluttered surface. “It would have only taken me a couple of minutes to walk here myself.”

“Minutes where Belle’s life is further at risk,” snapped Rumple. “Did you get what I sent you for?”

“Earth from the nine magical realms,” said Jefferson. “Most procured with ease, some with more effort. You’ll have to be sparing with the earth I got from Oz; some old green witch kicked up a right stink about me being there.”

“I’m not surprised,” said Rumple, dragging the bag towards him and examining each of the vials it contained. “I owe you a great debt for this, Jefferson. You have done well.”

“Anything for your lady love,” he replied, holding his hands up in surrender as he caught the mage’s glare. “Can you make the potion to save her?”

“I have all but one ingredient and that is the one that will be most problematic,” said Rumple, “And I am unsure of how to obtain it.”

“And that is?”

“Belle’s blood,” said Rumple, with a roll of his eyes as Jefferson looked in confusion between the sorcerer and the unconscious girl. “It is not something I can just take, Hatter. The doctor said it must be freely given.”

“This is the man you met in a street without reference or credentials to show for it and you take him at his word?” said the Hatter.

“Of course I bloody don’t, but I have done my own research and the reasoning is sound,” said Rumple. “Blood forcibly taken is tainted and, while it may have uses in the darker magicks, I must ensure the potion I make for Belle is as pure as it can be. She is a good soul, Hatter. Anything short of a purely brewed potion may do more harm than good.”

Jefferson frowned. “And how do you plan to extract freely given blood from an unconscious woman?” he asked. “She did not wake properly any time I was with her and I doubt she has improved in the days I’ve been gone.”

“The process will be difficult but I think I have a solution. It is not without risk, though,” said Rumple. “I have the power to access minds. If I go into Belle’s dreams, I can leave markers that will hopefully guide her to offer up her blood. The nature of her dreams is unknown. I may enter a world without reason or sense that will mean she cannot be shown the way. I may even lose myself in the confusion of the place. Not to mention I…”

“You what?” said Jefferson. “What else Rumple?”

The imp sighed, “I would be entering her thoughts, her emotions without her consent,” he said. “And that thought…”

“You are doing it to save her life,” said Jefferson. “Any other time I would tell you no. If you don’t do this, she dies. You would cut open her body to remove an arrowhead if it could not otherwise be freed. You mast save her life, Rumple, she needs you.”

Rumple nodded. “Then I must beg your help one last time,” he said. “If I do not return from the dream of my own volition, then you must pull me from it. The damage may be significant if my mind is unwilling, but the priority is Belle. If you have her blood, then you must wake me so she is free of me and then you must administer the potion. I will make it ready so all you will need to do is add the blood and then have her drink it.”

“I will keep both of you safe,” promised Jefferson, “When do we begin?”

Rumple glanced at the candle, the wax nearly melted to the fourth line from the base. “I will begin presently but I must sort through the earth to find the necessary properties so it may take a while,” he said. “At least a night. Any room in the castle is at your disposal. Eat and rest; you will need your strength.”

“And when will you rest?” said the hatter.

“When Belle is well or I am in my grave,” said the imp. “If she dies because I chose to sleep, then it will be as if I snuffed her light with my own hands. Go, Jefferson. I will call you when you are needed.”

Jefferson didn’t argue, knowing the imp’s tone well enough and not wishing to engage his temper as he warred with his own demons in his efforts to save Belle. Rumple watched him go before he turned to his own workbench, the ten vials set in front of him, nine full to bursting and one seemingly empty where the three grains of sand awaited his use. With one last glance at the sleeping woman, he set to work, praying that he would be forgiven for the measures he would take to save her.


	7. A Dreadful Choice

Jefferson whistled as he headed towards the highest tower of the Dark Castle, a spring in his step after a good night’s sleep in one of the many comfortable beds. He hoped the morning would find Rumplestiltskin far enough along with the potion to attempt to obtain Belle’s blood. Once that was achieved Jefferson had further plans. Despite the worry and the rush since Rumple had dragged him to the sick woman’s bedside, the hatter could not help but plot once he realised his friend was sweet on the girl. Hopefully once she woke, he would see the same emotions in her. Once she recovered, a little matchmaking would not go amiss, but right now the priority was saving her life.

He clapped his hands together, rubbing them vigorously as he wondered at what situations he could place the two potential lovebirds into to have them confess their feelings. He was so buoyed by his own thoughts that he took a moment to register the tense silence as he stepped into the tower laboratory.

He frowned as he saw Belle still stretched out on her bed, quiet for once but her brow still marked by fever. Rumple sat beside her, his face the picture of dejection as he cradled her hand in his.

“Is all well?” said Jefferson, ducking instinctively as Rumple turned in alarm but no fireball was thrown his way. “Belle is she…”

“She is as well as can be expected,” said Rumple, his eyes moving to the window. “I did not realise it was morning.”

“Is the potion ready?” asked Jefferson, moving further into the room to note the bubbling cauldron on the workbench, the air above it shimmering with power.

“Almost,” said Rumple. “Though I appear to have met a snag.”

“Was the earth not adequate?” said Jefferson, “I got the best I could from…”

“There is no issue with anything you brought, Hatter,” said Rumple, “It is what I have, or the lack thereof, that is the issue. I have analysed everything I have to make the best of it all, to increase the potency of every ingredient as best I can. For it to balance then I must…it will take all three grains of sand that I have from the realm of dreams. If I am to save Belle, then I sacrifice my way to my son.”

Jefferson heard the catch in his friend’s voice. “Surely there is another way to find your boy,” he said, his own tone more desperate than he had ever heard it. “You cannot sacrifice Belle’s life for…”

“Do you think I am unaware of what is at stake?” cried Rumple, jumping to his feet, “I must choose between the woman I love and my son. I never once dreamed I would have such a situation before me. I cannot let her go, but I cannot fathom losing a way to get to him.”

“A way?” clarified Jefferson. “Could there be another way, then? Could you find another way to Bae?”

“Maybe,” said Rumple. “Though this is the first solution I have found in over a hundred years. I have to save her but the cost…”

“But you can save the woman you love,” said Jefferson, his friend’s confession of his feelings met by sadness rather than the elation he would wish to feel. “Had I my time again…if I could save her…”

“Forgive me old friend,” said Rumple. “My words must seem thoughtless in light of your loss. I must save her. I want to save her, but the pain of it will take some time for me to recover from.”

Jefferson offered him a sad smile as the imp returned to Belle’s side, raising her hand to his lips and pressing a kiss to the back of it. He smoothed the blankets over her before he returned to his feet, heading to his workbench. He picked up the empty looking vial, the grains of sand clinking softly against the glass as he popped the cork that contained them. He stepped over to the cauldron, his hand hesitating above it for only a moment before he upended the glass, the grains invisible as they fell but the effect was instantaneous as the potion moved from a dark brown to a vibrant red.

“All it needs now is her blood,” said Rumple. “And for that I must wrong all that I love. Are you ready to assist me Jefferson?”

The Hatter nodded. “Just point me to where you want me and what equipment I need to use,” he said.

Rumple handed him a small vial and a wicked-looking needle, the end almost invisible from where it had been ground to the finest point. “Sit beside me and Belle,” he instructed, returning to the woman’s side and kneeling beside the bed. “I will go into her dream and try to convince her to give her blood to us. When she raises her hand with a finger outstretched then you must act swiftly, collect a few drops, and as soon as it is done, add it to the potion. I will hopefully release myself at the same time but if I cannot, you must wake me. Administer the potion to her before you aid me.”

Jefferson took a seat in the wingback chair beside the bed. “Good luck old friend,” he said. “I hope your task is swift.”

Rumple said nothing as he reached out and pressed two fingers to Belle’s temple, a muttered spell leaving his lips before his eyes fell shut and his breathing grew even. Although it seemed as though the mage was only deep in thought, Jefferson felt the change in the atmosphere in the room. He settled back in the chair, his instruments clutched tightly in hand as he watched for any sign that his friend’s plan to communicate with Belle had worked.


	8. Shared Thoughts

Rumple opened his eyes, stumbling as the world swirled before his eyes until it chose to right itself. He looked on in confusion as he found himself in the hallway to his castle. He wondered what had made him come to the room, but even more worrying was the state of it. Dust clung on every surface, the chandelier roped with thick cobwebs that glittered in the low light that filtered through the grimy windows.

His memory came to him and he spun on a heel. Desperate, he sought out Belle in the silent entryway but he could not see her and he frowned. He recalled her words when she was still communicative in her delirium, commenting on how dusty the castle was and how desperately she needed to clean. 

He was certain that he was in whatever world her subconscious had created, but he was unsure how to proceed. Belle’s psyche was a delicate thing that he could irreparably harm if he interrupted a dream in progress. He had to find a way to gently work himself into the dream’s narrative without causing undue strain on Belle’s already overtaxed mind. 

He looked down at the dust-covered table, frowning at the very thing that had perpetuated the illness Belle now suffered. He was tempted to reduce it to ashes but another thought came to mind and he reached out to the table, his finger tracing in the dust.

“Find me.”

He knew the message was cryptic but knowing how often his own dreams went, a puzzle was better than anything blatant. He would move through the castle, giving Belle clues in the hope that when she found him she would understand who he was. He headed towards the stairs, his boots leaving prints she could follow in the grime on the floor, and ascended, hoping he wouldn’t encounter her on his route through the castle.

xxxx

“You are dreaming.”

Belle read the words inscribed on the lowest panel of the window in the library, a smile on her lips as she traced the words. Her journey had begun as it always did, awaking, or as close to the sensation as she could name, in the dusty hallway to the castle. She had nearly started out on her normal path when she noticed that something was out of place. Words scrawled in the dust on the table and boot prints, bigger than her own, leading up the great stairs to the rooms above.

Her curiosity had been instantly piqued and she followed the strange messages, hoping to find their author. 

The words scrawled on the window at least made some sense of her existence. She didn’t understand this infinite loop of monotony, but the idea that it was a dream made sense. Other messages explained that she was not alone and that she was unwell. Whoever was here made her feel less alone, and that someone cared enough to save her. Spying more boot prints, she followed, humming as her pulse thumped in anticipation.

The next few rooms followed a similar pattern, the words scribbled in the dust confirming that the writer was a friend, there to save her. She traced the path of footsteps from room to room, finally descending once more towards the great hall. She wondered if the dream would end as it always did, even more so when she opened the door to see the spinning wheel in motion and the man sat with his back to her. 

She paused, wondering when the dream would shatter but contrary to normal, the wheel ceased its motion as well. The man seemed suspended in time, waiting for her to speak and unwilling or unable to turn. 

“Hello,” she said, screwing her eyes tight as she prepared for the dream to shatter.

“Hello,” came the reply and she opened her eyes to see the man turned towards her at last, her heart hammering as something deep inside her recognised him.

She smiled, reaching her hand out as she moved towards him. “You can speak to me?” she said incredulously. “You have never spoken to me before. Something is different, something has changed.”

“Oh my dear Belle, more than you know,” said the strange man before her, his green-gold skin glittering in the light from the fire and the windows.

“Belle,” she said, her heart thrilling as he took hold of her outstretched hand. “Yes, Belle is my name, isn’t it? I’ve been here alone for so long that I had forgotten.”

“And do you know me?” said the man, his eyes desperate. “Do you recognise me?”

Belle shook her head, “No sir,” she said. “And I’m sure I would remember you. You are somewhat distinctive.”

“A pleasant way of saying funny looking,” said the man, a fond smile tugging at his lips. “Perhaps introductions are in order. My name is Rumplestiltskin, though you recently have taken to calling me Rumple.”

Belle smiled, “Well that is a name I should remember,” she said. “I take it from your words that we are already well acquainted.”

“I would like to think so,” said Rumple, extending a hand towards the chairs set beside the fire. “Shall we sit? This may take some time to explain.”

Belle looked reluctantly at the chairs. “Every time something changes in this world, it disappears and it starts again. I…”

Rumple tugged on her hand, leading her to the seats. “Trust me, it will not start again this time,” he said, “My being here is keeping your subconscious on a path where we can interact. I have no intention of disappearing.”

The chair was soft and yielding as Belle sat down, her legs grateful after so long wandering round the castle.

“I know this is only in my head, but it is good to sit down,” she said. “Sometimes I ache and my head hurts. Your messages said I was sick.”

Rumple nodded, “Gravely so, I am afraid,” he said. “I am doing what I can to save you. That is why I am here. It is my fault you are ill and I will not rest until you’re well.”

Belle reached out, capturing his hand once more. “I may not know who you are but I am certain you did not set out to hurt me,” she said. “Tell me how I know you. You look at me in such a way that I would believe us family.”

“You are in my employ,” said Rumple, his gaze focused on their joined hands. “This castle you have created is our home. You are my maid, but I would like to think we are friends.”

“I’m sure we are,” said Belle. “How is it you are here, though? How are you in my head?”

“I’m a sorcerer,” said Rumple, finally meeting her gaze. “I have entered your dreams in the hope that we could communicate as we are. I have made a potion that can cure you, but it requires one more ingredient. Your blood, freely given.”

Belle offered him her hand, her wrist bared to him. “Then take it. You are more than welcome.”

“If only it were that simple,” said Rumple, his finger tracing the faint lines of her veins beneath the skin of her wrist. “This is a dream. Whilst it appears that this is your body, this is merely a construct. Any blood I take would disappear in the real world. I’m afraid our endeavour is a little more difficult. We must find a way for you to tell your body to raise your hand in offering to my friend who waits to take a few drops of your blood.”

“How do we do that?” said Belle.

Rumple sighed, “Of that, I am not sure,” he said. “But we will work it out. You may not have many of your memories, my dear, but I will tell you this: you are very clever and with me to help you, we will work this out.”

“Well then,” said Belle with a smile. “Let’s get started.”

It was several hours later when Belle lay back on the rug before the fire, her hands dropping to the floor where they had previously been held in her lap in an attempt at meditation.

“This isn’t working,” she said. “I can’t feel anything.”

Rumple sighed from his seat on the rug beside her. “Try again,” he said. “Even in dreams you should be able to influence your physical form.”

“Easy for you to say, sorcerer,” she snapped, fatigued, “I need to rest.”

“There is no time to rest,” said Rumple, taking hold of her hands and pulling her back up to sitting. “Time is passing, and even I cannot keep track in this world. You had but four days left to live when I came into your dreams and we need to act fast.”

“Well then let’s try something else because all that humming and breathing is getting us nowhere,” said Belle. “Perhaps if I do something that I always do, that might wake me. But no cleaning. Believe me, I’ve done enough of that.”

Rumple shifted on the rug, dust flying up around him as he did so. “You love to read. It is your greatest passion. I gave you a library and I restock it monthly because you go through so many books,” he said, smiling at the look on her face at his words. “You read to me often; it is a great comfort to hear your voice in the castle. I’ve missed it.”

Belle smiled. “I’m glad I brought you comfort,” she said. “There is a sadness in you. I knew that the moment I saw you.”

“That much is true,” said Rumple. “And when you are well, I will tell you all that is behind this. When you wake there will be no secrets. So you see, this endeavour is worth your time, not only to save your life but to quench that thirst for knowledge about your poor old master as well.”

Belle giggled, covering her mouth as the sound rang out loudly in the hall. “A promise indeed,” she said. “Though I do not believe reading will give me the impetus to wake. What else do I do in this solitary little kingdom of ours when I am not cleaning or reading?”

Rumple frowned. “You cook and we converse,” he said, “Recently you have taken to quizzing me on the skill of spinning. You sit by the wheel and pester me constantly.”

“Yes,” said Belle distractedly, getting to her feet. “There is something there. I remember, I think. You let me try once and you scowled as I made a complete mess of the thread.”

Rumple followed her to standing, his eyes alight at her words, “Not more than a month ago did that occur,” he said. “You spent the evening laughing at me for being grumpy, as you chose to put it.”

“I think spinning is the key,” said Belle. “In my visions before I have seen you at the spinning wheel, but when I tried to interact with you the vision shattered. It is key Rumple, I’m sure.”

“Then if you are sure, we must try. This is your vision and you have the control.” said Rumple. “If I trust anything, then it is the power of your mind.”

Belle smiled brightly, taking his hand in hers and leading him towards the wheel. “Sit down,” she instructed, “And start spinning.”

Rumple did as he was told, happy to follow her lead now that she seemed to have a plan in mind. She settled beside him, leaning into his shoulder as he set the wheel in motion, everything prepared as though waiting for him. The wool moved easily between his fingers, but it was all he could do to concentrate on his work as Belle rested her chin on his shoulder. 

“What next in your great plan?” he said, as her hand covered his.

“Teach me like you did before. There is something in the spinning, Rumple.”

“You can’t learn like that,” said Rumple, moving back on the stool until she could sit in front of him, his arms about her as he guided her hands to the thread. “What next? This is your vision Belle, I’m merely a guide back to the real world.”

Belle watched the thread bunch and twist beneath her inexperienced fingers, but the wheel kept turning all the same. “It’s out of reach,” she said, “There’s something I need to do. There needs to be a reason. I need a reason.”

Rumple frowned, the words bitter on his tongue before he even uttered them. “Your father, Maurice of Avonlea,” he said. “Your kingdom. Your betrothed, Gaston. I will return you to them all. I will take you home, release you from your servitude to me. Your kingdom will remain safe.”

Belle’s hands stilled. “No…no that’s not it,” she said. “I remember my father, but he’s not…there’s more somewhere. I need to find a reason to wake up.”

“Name it and it’s yours,” said Rumple. “Wealth, power, eternal life. It’s all within my power and I will bear any price. For you I will bear any price. I just want to know you are alive and well, even if you aren’t with me. Anything it takes to wake you up. I’ll create the brightest, most wonderful kingdom, just for you to rule over. Your youth and your beauty will never ever fade. Just wake up, Belle. Wake up, my dearest friend. Give me the last ingredient I need to save your life. I need you to help me save your life.”

Belle turned as she heard the catch in his voice, seeing the glint of the tear against his cheek as he kept his gaze focused on the great wheel before them.

“You,” she said, barely noticing the dust pull back from every surface, leaving the castle as she had once known it. “You’re the reason I have to wake up.”

“What?” said Rumple, turning back to face her. He barely saved himself from tumbling back off the stool as he realised how close she was.

“I remember you,” said Belle, one hand leaving the thread to rest against his cheek. “I remember you, Rumplestiltskin. You’re my reason to wake up.”

Any question he may have asked was silenced by her lips against his. The hard, urgent kiss was brief, but more powerful than any magic he had ever known in his long life. 

“Wake up, my love,” said Belle. “And then wake me. I’m ready to come home.”

Reaching out with her free hand, she kept her eyes locked on his as she extended her finger towards the wickedly sharp spindle of the spinning wheel. As her finger made contact and the first drop of crimson blood appeared, the world tilted and then shattered. Rumple felt himself fall away from her, grasping for her to no avail. Belle’s words roared in his ears, begging him to wake and then save her.


	9. Awakening

“Rumple! Rumple wake up! Rumple, for heaven’s sake man, wake up before I pitch something over that stupid head of yours.”

Rumple forced his eyes open as he heard a desperate, familiar voice calling to him. It took a moment for him to recognise the tower laboratory of his castle but as soon as he did, the memories returned to him in a tidal wave.

“Jefferson,” he said. “The blood, did you get the blood?”

The hatter nodded, holding out the vial to him, his body held at an awkward angle. “I can’t get up,” he said, “She won’t let go.”

Rumple looked down, seeing Belle’s bloody hand holding tightly to Jefferson’s wrist, the muscles in spasm and unable to be released. He extricated himself from the collection of limbs, taking hold of the vial and running to the potion that still bubbled away. 

As he added the blood to the mix, his eyes caught the guttering candle on the table, the wick barely lit as it struggled to find fuel in the tiny pool of wax it now inhabited.

“How long have I been away?” he demanded, as he reached for the nearest beaker and shoved it into the still bubbling potion, uncaring as it burned his hand with its heat.

“Four days,” said Jefferson. “I’ve been trying to wake you, and then Belle suddenly gave me her hand. You don’t have long.”

Rumple muttered a small charm to cool the potion before he hurried back to the bed, the candle dying in the small breeze the movement created. He paid it no mind as he stepped over Jefferson to lift Belle to sitting. Cradling her head with his hand, he held the bitter looking brew to her lips, forcing some passed them before setting it aside and tilting her head back, rubbing at her throat to get her to swallow. 

Reflex took over and she swallowed the potion but her body remained unmoving. Rumple repeated the act, muttering prayer after prayer to every deity he had never believed in, in the hope it would bring her salvation. Finally she coughed and then cried, her body shuddering as she released Jefferson’s arm in favour of throwing her arms around the man before her.

Rumple held her back just as tightly, uttering nonsense words of comfort as he pressed a kiss to her brow.

“Her fever’s broken,” he said. “Belle, your fever has broken. Are you with me? Are you back with me?”

Belle nodded, her body trembling as she scrambled to get a tighter hold on him. “I was so frightened,” she said. “I could hear you, every word, but I couldn’t speak and the dreams were so strange. I knew I was dreaming, but I could never escape them and then you came. You came for me, Rumple. You saved me.”

“I couldn’t lose you,” said Rumple, doing nothing to hide the desperation in his own voice. “But you found the way back. It was you who found the way, my brilliant girl. Let me see you.”

Belle moved back enough for him to see her face, smiling as he cradled her cheeks in his hands. “I must look dreadful,” she said.

“You are more beautiful than anything I have ever seen in my entire life, my love,” said Rumple.

“Should I take this as my cue to leave?” said Jefferson, smirking as the two turned to him in shock. “Thought you might have forgotten about me.”

“So good of you to remind us you were here, Hatter,” snapped Rumple, though his hands remained ever gentle as they left Belle’s cheeks to smooth down her pale arms. “Belle, might I introduce Jefferson. He has been your nurse and assisted in collecting the ingredients for the potion that saved you.”

“You’re the man that sang,” said Belle with a small smile as she rested her head against Rumple’s shoulder. “I heard you. Thank you, Jefferson. I truly did not believe I would live to see the real world again. Rumple, might I lie down? I may have wakened but I still feel weak.”

Rumple laid her back against the pillows, smoothing the covers over her once more. “You are going to rest for as long as it takes for you to feel strong again,” he said. “I don’t think it will be too long now that you are over the worst.”

“A good meal and some hot tea wouldn’t go amiss for either of you as well,” said Jefferson. “I trust the kitchens are fully stocked?”

“Unless you have been raiding them in my absence,” said Rumple. “Belle will need plenty of honey in her tea to regain her strength, and a little brandy wouldn’t do any harm.”

Jefferson nodded as he headed to the door, turning and offering a bow before he left the room.

“A strange one, your friend,” said Belle, taking hold of the familiar hand that still rested on the bed covers and raising it to her lips. “Was I so very close to the end as you said I was in the dream we shared?”

“More gravely so than I allowed you to believe, but the knowledge made you strong and made you fight,” said Rumple. “I’m just glad I got to you in time.”

“And the other things you said to me…all that we shared in that nowhere place, was it real? Was it…”

Rumple smiled. “I assume you are speaking of the kiss we shared,” he said, his free hand brushing a stray curl from her forehead. “In which case, if you are in agreement my darling, I would say it was very real.”

“Then I am very much in agreement,” said Belle. “I’ve wanted to tell you for so long, but I feared you wouldn’t want someone like me.”

“Says the beautiful princess to a fearsome beast,” said Rumple incredulously. “Dearest Belle, it is I who feared rejection from you. I was content to be your friend if that was all there was between us. I dared not ask for more.”

“Then I suggest we make communication a priority between us,” Belle said on a yawn. “I did not think I would be so tired after sleeping for so long.”

“You were more unconscious than asleep. The sleep your body seeks now is a healing one and you must yield,” said Rumple. “The more you rest, the quicker you will recover. I promise to be here when you waken.”

Belle’s eyelids were already drooping but her words were still clear as she spoke. “Kiss me goodnight?” she asked, her eyes falling shut and a smile gracing her lips as Rumple feathered the lightest of kisses to her mouth.

“Sleep well my love,” he said, knowing she was asleep before the words even reached her ears.

xxxx

Belle stretched as she blinked to wakefulness, the blankets soft and fresh against her skin. She wondered how they had kept so well after she had spent ten days in her sick bed. Her eyes adjusted to the dim light and she realised that she was no longer in the bed in the tower but instead her own bed, in her own chamber at the Dark Castle. 

Her clothes had been replaced by her nightdress and she felt far cleaner than she had when she had first woken from the fever. The familiar tingle of magic on her skin was testament to Rumple’s work in making her feel more comfortable. She felt far stronger as well, and wondered how much of his magic had had a hand in it. She recalled being briefly woken and helped to eat soup and drink tea, but she could not recall the taste of either. 

She sat up, deciding whether to get up and go in search of her master. She frowned at the term she automatically ascribed to him with their relationship so altered, but they hadn’t named what it was. The change had occurred in the world of their shared subconscious, then later in the relief of her sick room and she was unsure how it would play out in the real world.

The fire burning in the hearth cracked and caught her attention, her eyes falling on the pair of boots stretched out from the chair beside the warming blaze.

“Rumple?” she said, receiving no response and slipping from the bed to head towards him. “Rumple, dear?”

She stepped round the wingback chair, smiling as she saw him with his chin propped in his hand and sound asleep. It felt like months since she had last watched him sleep, though it had barely been a fortnight. It was because she was seeing him through new eyes. She had regarded him before as a woman who loved but from afar; now she looked upon him knowing that he loved her in return. 

Fresh eyes gave her a fresh perspective and, though she had always thought him handsome in a particular way, now she saw not just a fine face but one that awakened desire and longing she had read of in her books but had never known. Unable to stop herself, she reached out and captured one errant wave of hair that had fallen over his forehead, smoothing it between her fingers. She trailed the same fingers down his cheek, finding the skin rougher than normal but not displeasing to the touch. 

Despite her wishes not to wake him, he stirred, two reptilian eyes slowly opening to regard her as a small, weary smile came to his lips.

“Either I dream still or the firelight makes you even more impossibly lovely, my dearest Belle,” he said, capturing her curious hand and holding it in his clawed one.

“And you are made more the poet by the later hour,” said Belle. “How long have you been here?”

“And hour, maybe two,” said Rumple. “The firelight made me sleepy. Jefferson sends his regards for your swift recovery but he had to away; he was needed at home and I had already imposed upon him too long.”

Belle smiled. “He seems very nice,” she said. “My recovery seems to have hastened somewhat, though. I trust you did not face too much of the price for the magic?”

“Not at…no, with you I must be entirely honest now,” said Rumple. “The price I am facing will leave me without magic for several days. I feel very much mortal, a sensation I have not known for centuries. I do not regret a moment of it, though; seeing you well is more than enough to alleviate any discomfort.”

“Whilst I am grateful for your aid, I do not like the fact that you are suffering on my account,” said Belle. “Please, is there anything I can do to help?”

Rumple shook his head. “You have borne more than enough in recent days and that was my fault,” he said. “It was my arrogance about the fact that I cannot get ill that led me to disregard your vulnerability. The day the people from the village came for aid, I let my anger consume me and thought of little more than seeing them off the grounds. Had I kept my head, then I would not have put you at risk. No Belle, this is mine to own and I bear it with that in mind.”

“Then you should at least be comfortable,” said Belle, tugging on his hand. “I have slept enough for a while. You can use my bed unless you would prefer your own, though I doubt it has been aired in days.”

She was glad when he followed her without protest, sitting down on the bed and removing his boots.

“Would it be presumptuous of me to ask you to remain close at hand?” said Rumple. “I have no desire to leave you alone right now.”

Belle smiled. “Not presumptuous at all. I have no wish to be far from you, either.”

Her smile widened at the shocked look on his face as she lay down beside him, both of them on top of the heavy covers as the fire kept the room warm.. She held out her hand, brushing her fingertips against his until he took hold of it.

“Dearest girl,” he said “Only you would lie abed with a monster and show no fear.”

“I am lying abed with the man I love and who loves me, why would I be afraid?” she asked. “Is this not where I will spend my nights from now on?”

Rumple shook his head, though it was not in denial of her statement but incredulousness at her words. “That is entirely up to you, my darling,” he said. “Though if that is your wish, perhaps we might see to a ceremony of sorts. I will be accused of a great many things without taking issue but our love I would have shared honestly.”

“That is a uniquely worded proposal,” said Belle, “But I…”

“Will listen to all before you answer,” said Rumple, his face losing every hint of mirth. “You know my past, it is well documented and it is filled with dark deeds. I have swept aside happy endings, destroyed lives to build others, I have denied mercy when it was deserved, and granted favours when it suited my own gain. I have never cared and never made amends. Until you. You make me want to be better and though it hurts, I will be. Whilst you were sleeping after you recovered, I left you in Jefferson’s care because there was something I had to do. 

“I rejected the villagers’ plea for aid, not because they couldn’t pay the price for the magic, but because the price they offered was abhorrent to me. They offered me a girl no older than fourteen as a concubine. A slave to the Dark One in exchange for their lives. Their reason for doing so was you, my love. They were certain that I had taken you as a sacrifice of the flesh, and it seems that belief is universal. I was so angry, at myself more than anything, and I sent them away. Then you fell ill, and I was forced to go to their village to find answers. Part of me wanted to leave them to rot but I could not. While you slept, I distilled the potion I had saved you with and took it to them. The sacrifice of your own blood was enough to save them and the young girl who would have been sold to me now lives on, a free woman.”

Belle smiled, cupping his cheek in her small hand. “You did the right thing, and good deeds far outweigh the bad,” she said. “There is no reason you cannot turn your magic more towards good if you so wish it.”

“Do you wish it, my Belle?” said Rumple. “Do you wish me to be good? I must tell you now that it isn’t possible. If that is what you want from your partner, you must find someone other than me. My magic demands darkness and I have a mission not yet fulfilled that will require me to do anything, dark or light, to achieve.”

“Your son,” said Belle, smiling at the shock on his face. “You mutter in your sleep, and I have questioned you before and you mentioned a son in your slumber. I would not blame you for going to any lengths to recover him. I want you to be good if you can be, but I have fallen in love with the Dark One. I accept that the darkness will always be a part of you. Perhaps I can offer a balance, though I think there is a little darkness in me too.”

“You are all goodness, dear one,” said Rumple. “And were I a better man I would send you off to someone worthy of you but I do not have the strength.”

“Then for that I am glad,” said Belle, pushing on his shoulder until he lay back on the bed. She smiled at the tension she felt in him as she laid beside him with her head pillowed on his chest. “Tell me about your son. I want to help you find him, but I would adore to know more before we do.”

Rumple’s fingers came up to card through her hair as he spoke. “His name is Baelfire,” he said. “He is smart and kind and wilful to a fault. He was fourteen when things changed between us. Before the curse I was a poor spinner, friendless and struggling every day to put food on the table for him, let alone the both of us.”

Belle hushed him as she rested a hand over his heart, feeling its beat beneath the silk of his shirt. “And Baelfire’s mother?”

Rumple stilled and then sighed. “She left us when Bae was seven,” he said. “I was unsure as to her fate. She was taken, so I was told, onto a pirate ship and when I went to retrieve her… well, I was neither brave nor strong enough. I was told she was to be ill-used by the men and that I would never see her again. I mourned her for I believed she had died at their hands. We were never a love match but she was my wife and I…I was obliged to care.”

“I’m sorry,” said Belle. “What a horrible way to die.”

Rumple laughed bitterly as he moved her away from him and sat up once more. “Ah, but my dear Belle, she did not die, not then. Many years later, when Bae had left me in disgust of what I had become, I encountered the pirate that had taken Milah. I was no longer the cowardly spinner he had threatened upon his ship, and so I offered him a challenge knowing I would win. It was only when our swords crossed that I discovered the truth. My wife had not been taken against her will, nor had she perished as I had believed. No, she had gone willingly to the ship and to the captain’s bed. Had she abandoned me I would not have blamed her, pitiful creature that I was, but she had abandoned our boy. Left him without a mother and I had had to watch him mourn. I killed her.”

Belle sat up behind him, her arm moving over his shoulder until she had her palm once more flat against his heart. “And I see the remorse you have for those actions even now,” she said. “Dearest, don’t pull away. I know your past is dark, but I love you nonetheless. Tell me more about your Bae; describe him to me.”

“I can do better,” said Rumple, reaching into the slim pocket of his breeches and drawing out an ancient piece of folded parchment. “This is a close likeness. I have never shown it to anyone else.”

He opened it to reveal the illustration and Belle gasped at the sight of it.

“This…this is your son?” she said. “This is Bae?”

Rumple turned in her arms, a frown marring his brow. “Such disbelief?”

“Not disbelief but amazement,” said Belle. “I have seen him before.”

“You have? Where?” said Rumple, the drawing falling onto the bed as he took hold of her shoulders. “Belle, you must tell me.”

“He was in my dream,” said Belle. “Before I woke you, I had a dream and he said…he said you had given up a chance to find him to save me. Rumple, did you give up a way to Baelfire for my sake?”

“Aye my love, I did,” he said. “I could not have gone to him, knowing that the way was stained with the blood of the only other person I have truly loved in this world.”

“I would have gladly taken to my grave if it would help you to find him,” said Belle, “Though I am grateful that you were so willing to make the sacrifice for my sake. I hope that what I learned in my dream can prove true in the real world. The boy in my dream, Baelfire, told me to tell you that you can find a way to him. He said something about the Athame of the Night…something.”

“Athame of the Mystic Knights,” said Rumple.

“Is that a real thing? Something you can use?”

“Oh yes,” said Rumple, a smile breaking onto his face that was filled with more joy than she had ever seen. “If I could find it, I could open a portal between any world, not just magical, and then I could find my boy. I don’t suppose this dream told you where to find it.”

Belle frowned. “Not exactly. There was a room with many doors and the blue one stood out most. Does that make any sense?”

“Yes, my love, it does,” said Rumple, taking her face in his hands. “And you are quite the miracle. I think the potion we used to save you imparted some unknown powers on to you. You may have a few more prophetic dreams.”

Belle smiled. “Perhaps I shall dream of our wedding,” she said, “ If you had not realised it already, I am more than ready to accept you.”

“Then maybe we should see to that forthwith,” said Rumple. “We can ask Jefferson to bear witness. If your dream of doors is accurate then he can be our guide. It would be quite a journey.”

“Call it our honeymoon,” said Belle. “Though I trust we will spend the wedding night without Jefferson’s company?”

“Oh, most definitely,” said Rumple, his tone losing all of its impish quality as it deepened to one of desire. “Name a day my dearest, and I am yours.”

“We could go to Jefferson tomorrow,” said Belle, pressing a kiss to his lips. “But the wedding night…does not necessarily need to be delayed as long.”

“Are you certain my love?” said Rumple. “Such things are…”

“The natural course of two people in love, and I think we are both certain of our feelings,” said Belle, curling her hand into the silk of his shirt. “And I have fantasised of such things, here in this very bed for many a night since you brought me here.”

Rumple’s eyes darkened at her words as he laid her back on the bed. “And which fantasies would they be my love?”

“Better I show you,” said Belle, her fingers plucking at the laces that held his shirt closed. “But they all start with a kiss.”

“Well there I can most certainly oblige,” said Rumple, his lips brushing the air above hers in a teasing caress. “But you must tell me more. I have a wish to live up to my bride’s expectations.”

“Believe me,” said Belle, “You already do.”

She stopped any clever retort as she dragged him the scant distance between them, capturing his lips that spoke of many nights spent in such a fashion. More than one adventure lay before them, but Belle was certain that once they reached the end of the path they were on, she would have a family far exceeding anything she could ever have dreamed of.


End file.
